Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(10)

He instantly appealed to me. There was something about his chemistry, literally the pheromones he emitted, that aroused many different feelings in me. When I settled myself behind him on the saddle and he took off, I had to wrap my arms around his chest, to place my palms flat against his hot leather cut, against his patches, the one that proclaimed him a NOMAD.

Our father in heaven, he was buff. He was built like a brick shithouse, as I’ve heard some of my friendly sweetbutts say. It felt almost obscene placing my hands against his built chest, even though at least a couple layers of fabric separated me from his bare skin.

I squirmed with an uncomfortable sexuality. A picture of Roscoe Flantz flashed in my brain. Roscoe—my boyfriend, Sir, Dom, whatever you wanted to call him…Suddenly I couldn’t remember. Is this cheating? Taking enjoyment from another man’s scent, his chemistry, his body?

Every time Sax shifted gears, the slight tension in his pec rippled through my hand and straight to my cunt. My * was mushy, I could tell, just in the brief few minutes I’d been plastered to his back. What had Brenda said about him? Way hotter than Leo. I’d climb him like a tree. Now I saw what she meant. Being this physically close to Sax, though I was just innocently riding two up with him, was like committing a lewd sexual act. I felt dirty, tarnished, and I looked from side to side to make sure no one saw me.

What would Roscoe think? Then the truth of the reality hit me. Roscoe would think nothing. He probably wouldn’t care. Even if I was giving this buff biker a skull job in a back alley, Roscoe wouldn’t care. We’d never discussed fidelity. What made me think Roscoe required it?

That sobering thought didn’t stop my cunt from flowing as Sax pulled up in the side lot of a biker bar farther up Fourth Street. Reluctantly I removed my arms from around his wide chest. I realized he made me feel safe and protected, a feeling I hadn’t had since I was an ignorant kid. Or maybe when I was studying for my religious vows in Boulder, Colorado. The nuns had bought land from some monks, and overseeing the garden was where I had learned those skills. I’d felt safe there, tucked into our mountaintop hideaway with few visitors. Two years of safety that had been pulled out from under my feet didn’t create an enormous foundation upon which to build. Completely reinventing myself into a gardener who hung out with bikers hadn’t created any more security in my life. Feeling safe now was a novelty I reveled in.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I removed the helmet he’d loaned me. He stood with his muscular arms dangling at his sides, looking down at me critically. Was it his eyes, squinty from riding with the sun in them all the time, that made me feel under the microscope? I felt inadequate, boring in my plain outfit. I had no tattoos, no push-up bra, no makeup. Then I remembered. I was here to discuss something urgent with Sax. Not to seduce the hardened, road-weary biker.

“You’re not a sweetbutt,” he surmised.

“No, not really. Most of them are my high school friends, though. I come around to be with them, mostly, and I help out with things. Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Beatrix Hellman. Most people call me Bee.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his sensual mouth. “All right then, Bee. I presume this is club business.”

“It is. Let’s go inside if this is where you intend to go.”

I was surprised when he ordered only a club soda. I did, too. Most bikers I knew never missed the opportunity to order a whisky or at least a beer. We sat at a table so not even the bartender could overhear us.

I started out. I wasn’t used to being listened to so intently, so carefully. “You may have heard about Cassie Hasselbeck. Yesterday she was cut up pretty bad by this one associate of Leo’s.”

He nodded curtly. “Tony Tormenta. That’s why I’m here. Harte called me in to talk some sense into Leo, but I don’t think I was very effective.”

That was disappointing to hear. “So you know all about it. Well, us sweetbutts—me and my friends—” My heart nearly froze in place telling this top secret information to this brave, free-spirited biker. It was a pact between us women, and we hadn’t even told Harte, unsure of his loyalties. I was going outside our circle, telling Sax about it. I gulped my soda, wiped my nose on the back of my hand, anything to avoid what I eventually had to tell him. “We’ve gotten together a bounty—”

Sax leaned closer. “A what? You’re mumbling.”

Was I? I had been trained to enunciate so clearly! “We have a bounty for the head of Tony Tormenta.”

When I finally did speak the truth, it was like I had a frigging bullhorn and was blaring the details to the entire room. Really, only Sax was paying attention. Everyone else continued their conversations, yammering at each other and lifting their beer mugs. I only had eyes for Sax, holding my breath and waiting for his reaction as he studied my face. He was making sure of my veracity.

He nodded. “You girls got together some money? How much? Five grand?”

A person’s reaction had never meant so much to me. “Thirty large.”

Sax’s eyes widened. He nodded with respect. “Thirty large. You do know you could get anyone off the street, any number of enemies of Tormenta, to do the same job for about one-tenth that price? Maybe you shouldn’t run around mentioning how much you’re offering.”

That was true. “But you’re not just ‘anyone,’ Sax. Brenda mentioned you as someone who might be on our side.”